by Lucas Thorn
“Oh, Vasilja,” she choked. “I had another dream.”
“What kind of dream?”
Senka looked up into the other vampire’s eyes and a vivid flash of countless tormented souls entered her mind. The putrid and unholy fires which fed on them. The Devil, his mad bestial gaze.
The tainted corruption of the Felstone.
Evil.
Alive.
“I saw Hell,” she said. Voice soft. “It was beautiful…”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Senka rocked back and forth on the little bed. Knees up, humming a tune.
To Vasilja, the tune meant nothing.
But the younger vampire insisted it was the song of the Felstone.
“Well, it would make a terrible sonata,” Vasilja said.
“I wish you could have heard it.”
“I don’t need to, Senka. I’ve been enduring it for an hour now. I think I could hum it back to you if you like.”
A soft knock on the cabin door.
“Lady?”
“Dimiti,” Vasilja breathed. Slid the door open. “At last. Please tell me there’s some form of entertainment on this thing. I’m almost at the point of tossing her out the window. Or myself. I haven’t yet decided.”
“You’re in luck, Lady.” His smile was the slightest curl. “There’s a trio who were travelling in one of the other cars. They’ve offered to put on a performance tonight after dinner. Violins and cello, I believe.”
“Dimiti, you have no idea how happy that makes me. Senka? Will you get yourself dressed and wipe that muck off your face?”
“What muck?”
“You had your head out the window. There’s smoke from the engine. What muck do you think?”
“Oh.”
“Have you checked on our luggage, Dimiti?”
“Twice, Lady. Nothing’s been touched.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” She began to close the door. “You should get some sleep, Dimiti. You look tired.”
“Thank you, Lady. Are you sure there’ll be nothing else?”
“I think we can manage.” Thoughtful look at Senka. “But if she’s not here in the morning, there won’t be any need to worry. I simply threw her off the train. Good riddance, I say.”
“Of course, Lady,” he said. This time let the grin widen as he turned away.
Unlocked his own door and went inside.
Vasilja turned. Noted the younger vampire still hadn’t moved from her bed.
Scowled.
Clapped her hands. “Senka! Come on!”
It wasn’t until she was seated in a fine, if little too soft, couch and nodding along to a perfectly adequate set that she allowed herself to relax.
Shook her head as the waiter tried to push a glass at her.
Leaned toward Senka, and whispered. “Stop looking so bored.”
“I am bored.”
“Try not to look it. I don’t sit around looking miserable every time you want to stop at a coffeehouse or wine bar or whatever seedy little place you want to roost in.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I do not.”
“You do too, Vasilja. And you complain. Loudly. At least I was being quiet.”
“This time.”
“I’m hungry. That’s all.”
“I know.” She touched the young vampire’s hand. “And you know I’ll look after you. Just try not to ruin the evening for me.”
Senka shut her mouth and leaned back in the chair. Tried to pull her shoulders back, but failed.
The gathered guests, she’d been told, were all fascinating people. Which translated as rich. One was supposed to be a prince, but she forgot which one. Another was a famous actress. There was an American, a few sour-faced bankers, a man who said he painted butterflies, and an Englishman who spent most of his time complaining about the food.
Everyone immaculate.
Everyone charmed to meet her.
She couldn’t understand why these people nodded along with polite rapture on their faces.
The violins were a banshee screech.
The cello a groaning calf.
Surely Vasilja would be scathing in her review.
But, like the fascinating people with empty eyes, Vasilja listened with absolute attentiveness. Smiling if she seemed to like something. Lifting her hand and moving her fingers in time.
All while Senka tried her best not to fidget.
And her patience curdled inside like a nest of hot ants.
Which chewed at her intestines and crawled down her nerves.
No matter how she sat, she couldn’t be comfortable.
Nor could she move.
Just waited.
And waited.
While the violinists sawed and the cellist looked like he’d fallen asleep.
When it was over, the scattered guests gave a hearty round of applause which left Senka wondering if they were as excited as she was that it was over.
The musicians bowed and made a discreet exit through the back of the car. Vasilja watched them go with a reluctant sigh. “I really wanted to bite that violinist, Senka,” she said. “Very much. In fact, I should like to spend some time travelling Europe one day and biting them all. Their blood must be intoxicating. Especially the good ones.”
“Was he good?”
“Of course! Don’t tell me you weren’t listening. It was rapturous. Honestly, you have no taste at all in fine things, do you?”
“I’m not sure,” Senka snapped back. “You’ve never let me bite a musician. But I often want to.”
“Don’t be snide.”
“Whatever that is, I’m not being it.” Tugged at the cuff of her coat. “I’m being hungry.”
“Ladies,” a cheerful voice cut through Senka’s moan. “If you’re hungry, my friend and I would be delighted if you’d join us for dinner.”
“Eavesdropping is very rude,” Vasilja said, her tone softening as she looked up at the two young men. “But we could possibly forgive you this once if you’d share your names.”
“Archibald Larkin,” he said, with a slight bow. “Please call me Archie. And this is Oliver Winchester. The Third, if you’d believe it. His father felt it important to give him the numerical.”
“Stop it, Archie,” the other said with a playful slap to the shoulder. Nodded in greeting. “Ladies.”
Vasilja looked them both up and down, then smiled.
Pushed her power outward with a gentle exhale of breath.
“I do apologise, gentlemen, but we simply can’t eat with you tonight. My sister here has a touch of chill and will be needing to spend the evening somewhere warm.” She smiled wider. Red lips. Plush. Heat in her tone. Promise of intimacy with very word. “It was a risk to leave our cabin this late in the evening, so we’ll be retiring. I’m sure we could make your acquaintance when we’re closer to Paris? You are heading to Paris, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Archie said. “That’s where we’re going. Right, Ollie?”
“Paris.” Ollie put a hand to his head. “I feel very strange all of a sudden.”
Vasilja stood, holding her hand out for Senka to take. “Have a good evening, gentlemen.”
As she drifted away, Senka twisted her lip.
“But-”
“Hush, Senka. Not right now. I’m concentrating.”
“Oh.” Grunt. “That’s alright then.”
They moved to their own car before Senka looked over her shoulder and saw the two figures following at a discreet distance.
“They’re following us.”
“Of course they are.” Vasilja’s brow was furrowed. She pushed her fingers to her forehead. “We couldn’t very well wander around with them if we’re going to bite them now, could we? If they disappear off the train, someone might notice. And they might notice we’d been walking with them. We don’t need that attention. Now, hurry up and open the door.”
“Yes, Vasilja.”
Pushing into her cabin, Senka made to close the do
or. Stopped when Vasilja held it. Her lip curling cruel. “Let them inside, first.”
The two young men entered in a daze, eyes unblinking.
Only when Vasilja told them to share one of the small seats did they begin to look around.
Ollie, squeezed in beside Archie, coughed nervously. “Well, this is very comfortable,” he said.
“Yes,” Vasilja nodded. “It is.”
Senka stood by the door, unsure where to go. Rising heat in her belly. Thirst in the back of her throat. Thirst which would never be quenched.
But one she craved to feed.
“Vasilja?” She ran her tongue across the back of her fangs. “Which one is mine?”
Vasilja reached out and placed a hand on Ollie’s cheek. He closed his eyes with a shiver of delight. “I like this one,” she said. “He’s sweet.”
Senka moved in front of Archie. Undid the buttons on her coat and threw it onto her bed.
He swallowed, eyes tripping across the tight shirt she wore. The skin above her collar. Her mouth. Eyes. “Oh, Lord.”
She bent down over him.
Pressed nose to his.
And licked his mouth, tasting him.
Sat in his lap, legs either side of his hips. Ignored Ollie’s squeak as Vasilja wrenched him out of the couch and threw him onto the bed with uncharacteristic frenzy.
“I have to be quiet,” Senka breathed into Archie’s ear. “So no one can hear. That means you have to be quiet, too. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” he whispered back. Tried a brave chuckle.
“Good.” She slammed a hand down across his mouth, cutting off all sound. Shoved him further back into the couch so his head was pinned to the wall. “Now. Fight me, Archie. Fight me before I rip you to little pieces!”
He struggled.
Then his eyes went wide as blood fountained up from Ollie’s throat.
Vasilja jerked open the front of her dress and let the blood rain down her skin. Opened jaws and ripped into the side of the gurgling man’s throat one more time.
A shark.
Worrying at its prey.
Archie wrestled, then. All his strength he threw at the young vampire. Kicking out, but there wasn’t enough room.
She pushed him down. Harder.
He managed to get one hand free – or did she let him?
His punch slammed into her side.
And she absorbed it without sound.
Second into her chest.
Not enough force.
He couldn’t get a decent swing.
But he knew he had to.
Ollie’s blood spurted again. A rush of red which splashed across Vasilja’s bared chest. She turned to look at him, mouth open. Fangs drooling crimson down lips. Chin. Breasts.
He screamed, but Senka’s hand was still muffling his cries. What little sound made it through was drowned in the fierce chugging roar of the engine.
Tears of desperation as he struggled. Tried pulling her hand off his mouth. Couldn’t. Her strength was astounding.
Looked up.
Senka’s eyes blazed with unholy need. Body grinding into him.
“Hit me,” she moaned. “Hit me!”
He went berserk. It had happened once before. When he was at school. A bully had pushed him into one of the pools. Nearly drowned him. He thought he’d been infuriated then, but this time he utterly lost it.
She was a monster! A demon! He had to escape! Had to make it-
She clawed him.
Nails raked across his face, gouging long deep lines into skin.
Slapped him.
Hissed; “I said, hit me!”
Both arms free, he rallied his strength and tried again.
Flailed.
Arched his back and tried to buck her loose.
But she wouldn’t move.
Just kept looking at him with growing disappointment.
“You’re useless, Archie,” she said. And lunged. Fangs ripping into his throat like knives in a savage snap of jaws. Blood gushed.
He cried out.
Cried until blood poured through the punctures in his neck and down his throat.
He couldn’t breathe.
It bubbled in the back of his mouth.
She pulled her hand off him and straddled him tight, planting her mouth across his.
Sucking at the blood which he coughed and choked up.
Sucking at the last breath of life which left with it.
Spasms ceasing, Archie’s last thoughts were of a tree near his home. A tree on which he’d tied a rope when he was a boy.
He’d swung on that rope.
Back and forth.
Creak of rope.
Singing a song he could no longer remember.
The words just weren’t in his memory anymore.
And, with a final brutal tearing of flesh, neither was he.
Vasilja watched Senka try to drive her face deeper into Archie’s gaping throat, and smiled.
Looked down at the rivers of blood sliding down her own skin, her frustration at the burden of having to make decisions seeming to slide away from her with it.
“Oh, Senka,” she purred. “I think you were right about trains. They’re so romantic.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There were two of them.
The first lifted the blind, allowing sunlight to fill the corridor. He looked out at passing hills and trees. A village in the distance. Blur as the train shot past a small farm.
“Nice day, isn’t it, Aubrey?” Conversational.
“Keep your voice down.”
Vernon resisted the urge to club the other man across the back of his head.
Since leaving London, he’d endured a constant atmosphere of barely restrained contempt from Aubrey, who considered himself far too aristocratic for Vernon’s acquaintance. Loudly, Aubrey had demanded someone else be partnered with him.
And been refused.
Demanded a separate cabin on the train.
Been refused.
Instead of braining him, Vernon scratched his moustache and took a half-step back. Looking left and right as Aubrey picked the lock. There was something amusing about that. The man had insisted on being the one to pick the lock.
Vernon had expected to be ordered around like a common lackey, but instead Aubrey fancied himself as some kind of burglar. A pompous one, of course. But still a burglar. He seemed to have a romantic view of criminals which Vernon found both disturbing and hilarious at the same time.
Aubrey scratched and twisted his tools.
Shifted on his fat little legs. Thrust out his ass.
Vernon resisted kicking it.
Had to look away to fight that urge.
The steward would be doing his rounds shortly. Moving from cabin to cabin. Ensuring stuck up first class prats like Aubrey had their mineral waters topped up and a small glass of something hedonistically appropriate on the way.
Stifling a sneer, he looked down at Aubrey again.
Who was peering hard at the lock.
Fumbling with the pins.
He wasn’t that bad, but nervousness always made him slow.
Vernon’s fingers itched to take over, but there was no way he was going to spend the trip home listening to Aubrey whine on and on about how inappropriate it was for one of the working class to interfere in his noble pursuits.
For Aubrey, this whole thing was an adventure. One which had proved more exciting than most. They’d never seen a real vampire before. This would be their first.
It was, to Aubrey, a mission of utmost importance. More than a strike against evil. It was one he hoped would provide the first step to gaining admittance to the highest levels of their Order. He’d never quite believed his name wasn’t enough. It had been enough for the Freemasons.
And the Templars and Rosicrucians.
And another fifteen secret societies Vernon knew about.
Aubrey was no doubt anticipating the chance to sit with brandy in hand, fe
et up by the fire, regaling younger members with the time he picked a lock on the Orient Express and staked two murderous vampires all on his own.
Because there was no doubt in Vernon’s mind that Aubrey would leave him out of both his report and future tales.
Truthfully, Vernon couldn’t care less about glory.
He didn’t care what the Order’s mysterious leaders wanted.
He cared only that the vampire scourge was extinguished as soon as possible.
Then, and only then, could his late wife rest in peace.
“Come on. Aubrey,” he murmured, suddenly impatient. “We don’t have much time.”
“Will you quit distracting me? This is hard enough as it is with the train bouncing around like this.”
Of course. The train rhythmic motion.
Always an excuse.
“Do you want me to do it?”
“No! I want you to keep your bloody mouth shut and your eye on the corridor.”
Again, resisted bringing his club down on the round bald head.
The snap of the lock, when it came, was a welcome relief to them both.
Aubrey lifted himself up. Dug a hand into his coat and pulled out a long wooden stake. Mallet in the other, he nodded. A tip of the hat to the working class who was about to go into the room first, no doubt.
At least, until this tale was retold. At which point, the working class remained a gibbering mess outside in the corridor while the valiant son of a bankrupt lord did all the dirty work.
Vernon grimaced.
Still didn’t care.
He preferred to be first.
And damn Aubrey and his ambitions. Damn them all. He’d only come to kill vampires.
He pushed the door open with his shoulder and entered the darkness.
A leather curtain had been pinned to the window, blocking all light. First thing he did was light a lamp by the miniscule desk.
“Hurry, man,” he hissed.
Aubrey scrambled to get inside, pushing the door shut behind him.
“Wait,” he huffed. “I want to kill them. We had an agreement, Vernon.”
“To Hell with your agreement. We don’t have time for your foolishness. You take the one on the left. I’ll take the right.”
“I want the one on the right.”
“What for?”
“Just move, Vernon!”
“Fine.”
